


all hallow's eve

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Closet Sex, Drunkenness, F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: In a previous life Sansa would never have acted thusly. The debauchery of the court was infamous, the celebrations thrown by the Dauphin each year to honor the night of All Hollow’s Eve marked by drunkenness, gambling, and a seemingly endless flow of wine and spirits.But to be intimate so publically as man and woman, together before a hundred prying eyes and pointing fingers of the people of court. Sansa could not imagine it. The previous year she had been taking a turn about the balcony, desiring to free herself of the stifling heat of the ballroom if only for a moment, when she had stumbled upon a pair of writing, moaning bodies. Their tongues lashed, hands roamed, grasping at each other like beasts in the lightless alcove of the balcony. Sansa had turned away quickly, finding the display very awkward.But with Jon…// spirits written for jonxsansafanfiction’sAll Hallow’s Week Celebration





	all hallow's eve

In a previous life Sansa would never have acted thusly. The debauchery of the court was infamous, the celebrations thrown by the Dauphin each year to honor the night of All Hollow’s Eve marked by drunkenness, gambling, and a seemingly endless flow of wine and spirits.

But to be intimate so publically as man and woman, together before a hundred prying eyes and pointing fingers of the people of court. Sansa could not imagine it. The previous year she had been taking a turn about the balcony, desiring to free herself of the stifling heat of the ballroom if only for a moment, when she had stumbled upon a pair of writing, moaning bodies. Their tongues lashed, hands roamed, grasping at each other like beasts in the lightless alcove of the balcony. Sansa had turned away quickly, finding the display very awkward.

But with Jon…

It had been nearly a year since they had wed and yet they acted as a newly married man and wife, pawing at each other every night and falling into bed while the sun was high and there were still chores to be done. To see him now, dressed so finely for the ball, swathed in black silk and shining silver embroidery, which she recognized as being done by her own hand, she could not resist him.

It was almost like a spell had been cast over her. She was desperate for him. Even the thought of waiting for the carriage ride home was too much for her. She craved his touch, craved the feel of his hands on her skin and his lips on her mouth.

Perhaps it was the wine, Sansa wondered. She had not even drunk so much on the night of her wedding. The maidens that constantly circled the ornate ballroom, dressed in the iridescent wings of the mythological forest nymphs for which they were costumed constantly refilled her chalice. And the wine itself, so deep a red it was nearly black, shimmering lustrously as a few odd bubbles hissed and popped.

Her lips had grazed his lightly as they danced, so tightly nestled together that in the low light of the ballroom they could have been one person. She had tasted the spiced wine he had consumed, the sweet taste like nectar drunk from his soft lips. His palm had pressed to the flat of her back, warm even though the cloth layers of her costume. He had pulled her close to him, close enough that she could feel the straining tightness building against the buckles of his breeches.

It was unbearable to be this close to him, smelling the sweet perfume he had dabbed on and even just the scent of his skin, warm and piquant. Her hands had closed into the lapels of his shirt, her nails lightly brushing his skin and making him shiver. They swayed together, the lilting music in their ears pounding as loud as the heart in Sansa’s throat and the blood at the base of Jon’s cock.

They slipped away unnoticed, the Dauphin’s manse so large that there seemed an endless labyrinth of unoccupied rooms laid out before them. The lush garden was lit only by moonlight and as they passed through Sansa paused to stay. But, upon hearing the rustle of clothes and the soft, rasping breath of another couple, they continued on, desiring neither to interrupt nor be interrupted.

Jon led her along the corridor with a gentle hand upon the small of her back, just the simple touch so heated Sansa wished to turn around and drag him to the floor right then and there. It was not long before they found an empty closet, occupied only by a shelf of fresh pressed towels and linens, and before Jon’s fingers had even reached to turn the lock he felt Sansa’s lips upon his.

He could not resist her for another moment, not the way her eyes were hot and dark as they looked at him, or the way her hands grazed his skin teasingly as they had danced, touching him just as she did when they were alone together. It was almost like an agile game of cat and mouse- in which Jon felt simultaneously like both cat and mouse.

She pawed at him, her hands lifting beneath his tunic and pressing to his bare skin, cold enough to make him gasp. She could feel the contraction of his muscled belly beneath her fingers, the bones of his hips pushed out against her own.

Jon could taste the syrupy sweetness of her lips, soft as satin and parted beneath his, her tongue reaching out to twist around his. He felt like a green boy again, experiencing his first touch of a woman, as he had once done with a kitchen maiden so long ago.

Her body fit against his like a palm against the pommel of a well-worn sword. She breathed heavy as she felt him rut against her, desperate for her touch, his mind heavy with the weight of the wine he had feasted upon after supper. His mask slipped away and fell to the floor, the crimson satin matching that of Sansa’s, though she had long ago discarded it.

When Sansa turned Jon found he was instantly pressed to her back, feeling her arch against him. A small moan escaped her lips, soft enough to make gooseflesh run down his spine like a bucket of cold water had been upended over his head and had begun to trickle down his skin.

Her neck lolled to the side, leaving a space wide enough for him to plant his lips across her skin and feel the warm, gentle pulse beneath. His hand is on her belly, pulling her backward, feeling his hips take on a life of their own as they rutted against her back.

Jon felt foolish. He was usually strong enough to keep tight control over himself, to reign in the wildness he often felt rearing within him. Your wild wolf, his mother had called it. He was careful to keep the beast caged. But he was overcome by her scent, by her taste, by the feel of her hands roaming his body, and by the way she whispered his name as though they were the sweetest two syllables she had ever heard.

Her hands snaked around to take hold of the back of his hips, ushering him forward, as though telling him he need not hold himself so far back. She always seemed to know, he thought.

To sense his fear or anger or when the Dauphin had pushed him far beyond his measures, leaving Jon to arrive home huffing and breathless from frustration. She would merely press her cool palm to his cheek so that his weary head could sink into her touch. And she would kiss his brow and brush away the dark curls that were in her way, or, if he was truly far beyond the point of frustration she would sing a few bars of the old French tune his mother had sung to him as a child.

“Jon.” she whispered, looking at her husband over her shoulder. The apples of her cheeks had gone pink from the exertion of their closeted rendezvous. The sleeve of her gown had fallen low on her shoulder, slipping lower down her arm as she moved.

In the wardrobe they were closer even than they had ever been in their marriage bed. The stilted air was thick and dewy with the scent of sweet perfume and the heady wine on their breath, the little bit of candlelight that slanted in from beneath the door casting their faces in an unearthly glow.

Jon was thankful that his wife had picked out a simple gown for the evenings festivities, knowing that if his wife had chosen any of the gowns donned by the ladies of court he would be undressing her for hours before he found her body beneath. But her simple gown of cloth and cotton lifted easily, bunching around her waists.

In the half-light he could see the outline of her breast, heavy and perfect, the sweetest ivory white and pink Jon had ever seen, noting crudely that the colours are the same as the Dauphine’s expensive gown back at the ball. Dipping his head to brush his lips across each pertinent nipple he could feel Sansa shudder in his arms, her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted to allow a dull moan to punctuate each breath.

His fingers pulled madly at the laces of his breeches, his cock springing forth with painful anticipation. Her leg hooked across his waist, her bare back pressed to the cold stone wall so firm that she was sure her handmaiden would find bruises the following day. But she did not care, drunk off of wine and revelry and _Jon_.

“You are so wet for me, my love.” He groaned, her weight held between his arms and the proffered wall. “My sweet girl.”

Sansa moaned his name again, letting out a sharp gasp as he thrust his hips forward and felt himself push into her. She cursed under her breath and Jon felt a thrill run through him at the sight of his proper lady of a wife cursing as foul as a commoner.

It felt as though it had been years since he had had her like this, her head thrown back and her body undulating around him. His mind was somehow both foggy and clear, both full and empty. He felt as though he had all the time in the world and no time at all.

Sansa’s teeth scraped at his shoulder, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his skin as he lifted her higher into his arms. A lifetime ago she might have worried that when they returned from their tryst the women of court would whisper, would stare after them, knowing what they had done. But she could not bring herself to care, not now, not when she was so far in the throes of lust and furor.

She caught his mouth, her lips sweet and messy, moving across his face in a series of hot, wet kisses that left the wolf in him hungry, her teeth catching hit bottom lip and biting soft enough to make him feel even harder. He felt wild, even from so far from the ballroom able to hear the music that had filed the palace like wind through an open window. His heart beat in his throat, her nails digging into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

Against his mouth her skin was warm and sweet smelling, roses and sweet-perfume, the scent that drove him wild to the point of madness. He moans at the pressure of her body against his, the leg draped over his hip dragging him closer, her heeled foot pressed tight to his bare thigh.

Within a moment he knew he would spend himself, the way her fingers curled through his hair and her nails raked at his skin leaving him trembling. Every muscle in his body had gone as tight as the bow of a new violin. He opened his mouth to speak to her but found his voice overcome by the sound of his wife’s own peak rushing headlong through her, the moans that spilled from her lips sinful. He was powerless to resist, the feeling of her warmth tight as an unworn glove.

The pleasure that pushed through him was carnal, the choked moans that filled his ears a mix of his and hers, probably loud enough to be heard through the thick marble that engulfed them. Jon turned his head so that his lips were planted against her neck, muffling the sounds of release. Her nails dug into the muscle of his arse, drawn taut by the orgasm flooding through him.

He let his head drop down against her shoulder, suddenly too fatigued to stand as he did up the laces of his breeches once more. Sansa was engulfed in a post-orgasmic glow, her cheeks pink and her lips red and parted as she tried to catch her breath.

Jon grinned, looking suddenly shy. He reached forward to kiss her softly, a stark difference to the madness and frenzy of their previous kisses. “We should get back.” He whispered. “Before they send out a search party for us.”

Sansa chuckled softly, a tinkling laugh that made something flutter in his belly. “I fear everyone knows where we’ve run off to.”

Even after Sansa righted her clothes, smoothed down her hair, and fanned herself to try and reduce the redness of her face, she knew the image of what they had done was written on their faces plain as day. But even then, even as they circled back through the ballroom and she found the courtly ladies staring after them, she could only smirk, looking at her husband knowingly out of the corner of her eye. Jon grinned at her and took her in his arms again, circling her around the marble floor. And she found she did not care.


End file.
